


Uninvited, Not Unwelcome

by theleaveswant



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Fluff, Gen, Goldilocks - Freeform, M/M, Porn Battle, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, can be read as platonic, only mildly shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's getting used to Clint just showing up in his apartment.</p><p>Written for Porn Battle XV (The Ides of Porn). Prompts "couch", "cuddling", "sneaking", "tired", "unexpected", "wrecked".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uninvited, Not Unwelcome

**Author's Note:**

> Clint here is at least as much Hawkguy a la Fraction as he is MCU, and I like to think the itty bitty story supports both gen and shippy readings.

It’s been almost two months since the first time, the morning Phil walked out of the bedroom of his off-base apartment and jumped a foot off the ground while yelling “Jesus!” because Clint Barton—who had not been invited and as far as Phil knew did not possess a key to the apartment or have any reason to know its location—was sitting on Phil’s couch in his underwear looking sad and more than a little drunk.

“I have problems,” Clint had intoned morosely. 

“No kidding,” Phil had answered, and gone into the kitchen to make coffee. 

He showed up another six times in the next eight weeks, always unannounced, sometimes sober, and usually while Phil was asleep. By the fourth time it happened Phil had started leaving sheets, pillows, and a clean towel in a neatly folded stack on the floor by the couch, just in case. 

The seventh time was the first time, that Phil knew of, that he got in while Phil himself was not home. He still had no idea how long Clint had been there before he arrived.

Phil had just returned from a six-day field mission during which he’d managed about two full nights’ worth of sleep, and between the bone-deep exhaustion and the resulting headache he was loopy enough that he actually said “And the baby bear said,” out loud when he stumbled into his bedroom to find Clint passed out under the covers.

Kicking Barton out of bed seemed like an unreasonable amount of effort, at that moment, and so did going back to the living room and making up the couch. Besides that, it was Phil’s bed, and Phil would be damned if he’d let a sad bastard like Clint Barton steal it from him.

He wasn’t all _that_ surprised to find Barton wrapped around him like a sloth when he woke up some hours later, and the full-body contact was nice, if a little on the warm side. He was rather more surprised by Barton’s tickly-breathed mutter of “Blowjobs later?”, but decided to leave off worrying about that until they were both more awake. In the meantime he rolled over as far as the human straightjacket would allow, kicked the covers off a bit so they wouldn’t bake, nestled his chin against the top of Clint’s head, and drifted back to sleep.


End file.
